Those days of being alone with yourself

One day lying in bed and brushing up on the circle of friends, I brushed a long list of books posted by a friend, listing all the books he had read in the previous school year.

I clicked on the seemingly dense thumbnails and started counting how many books there were, and when I counted to seventy or eighty, I couldn't count them.

A strong sense of remorse and shame welled up in my heart, and I thought back to my last school year, when the empty time was forcibly stuffed with dispensable things, large and small, seemingly busy and busy, but the soul did not get a moment of peace.

"How did you manage to read so many books a year?" Impatient with curiosity, I typed such a paragraph in the comment area.

He quickly replied to me: "Professional needs, empty to see, gradually there are so many." The tone was natural, not strange, without a trace of pride and positivity.

I replied to his thumb expression, still unconvinced, like a gambling child, randomly searched for several names on the book list, and found that they were hundreds of pages of large tomes.

I muttered sourly in my heart, it was just a few books. But I have to admit that he is the one who can really be alone with himself.

In this noisy mortal world, a path was carved out, a few books were taken, and the breeze returned, and the clouds swam in the sky, looking at those of us who followed the waves indifferently.

I am not envious of how many books he has read, but I envy him for being able to calm down and do what he wants to do well in his college life.

I once set an ambition to set aside some time for myself in my four-year college career and never to be led by the nose.

On the first day of school, the school sent each new student a wish card today, four years later. I wrote ambitiously: 1, read a book a week 2, go for a run on the playground every day, 3, develop a hobby of my own

The card carrying my full anticipation was thrown into the mailbox, and at the moment of the end of the ceremony, the last rays of the sunset faded into the mountains, the light in the sky receded, and the twilight gradually rose.

At the end of the song, I finally carried my bag to the most ordinary dormitory building.

Maybe that's where most of us come from.

In the first class of my freshman year, the teacher said something that impressed me: "College should spend half of its time in class and half of its time for yourself." ”

This sentence once made my heart flutter, and now that I think about it, it is just a surge of emotion.

We do have a lot of free time, as the teacher says. In the first month, I ran every day after the evening self-study, read my favorite books between classes, and brushed up on the fourth level of questions when I had time. During that time, my mood was colorful, and I felt that I had won at the starting line, as if I could see the dawn four years later.

We are always enthusiastic at the beginning, walking alone in the middle of the way, and finally everyone is lost, looking back on our lives, sighing, and writing down memories with tears to warn future generations, and later people start a new round of reincarnation with tears in their eyes.

I have fantasized countless times that I can live a university like no other, but gradually blend into the sentient beings and find nowhere.

In the later college life, I went for a run countless number of times, the class began to quietly brush up Weibo and Zhihu, the fourth level topic was never moved, and every day I was anxious about the arrival of ddl.

The scene of the passionate oath at the opening ceremony still lingered in my mind, I remembered my roommate's promise to "learn a skill in freshman year", but the books bought last year on the shelves were still not unopened, the accumulation book at hand was only written on the first page with a few lines, the fourth and sixth level materials were only traced in the first few pages, and my resume was always just "learning ps", I don't know when it will be completed.

My WeChat chat background picture is a five-stroke input method root table, but the real I am just a giant of thought.

I envy my friend Little A, who has excellent grades and a good job as a student, and recently she has been fascinated by speech, participating in speech competitions everywhere in the university city, and winning many honors.

This summer, we met briefly. In the hot pot restaurant where the two of us often went, I talked to her while shabu-shabu lamb: "Actually, I envy you, you can do what you like to the extreme, almost never fail." 」 ”

She smiled and told me that her early days were very bumpy, and she had to stay in the library late every day, and her roommates basically played with their mobile phones in the dormitory, scorning her behavior. When I first started speaking, I also ran into walls everywhere, repeatedly revising my manuscript every day, and practicing my demeanor and language in front of the mirror.

The heat of the hot pot swept her face and pasted her lenses with a layer of moisture. She showed a rare tiredness and vicissitudes that day, and we didn't talk about it again.

I suddenly understood how hard it was to be brilliant.

It is precisely because it is difficult that the outstanding people deserve to be praised.

Maybe the cost of success is too great, or maybe the times are too impetuous, and we always repeat the traces of others. Just like when we were young, our parents had to give us various interest classes, or when we volunteered, we had to apply for economics, because others were like this, or economics made money.

Over time, we lost our inner choices, and every day we were overwhelmed by these imposed things, so we brushed our mobile phones and chatted, and the time passed.

Life is so long, why not take the time to do something about yourself? In this period of your own, leave some time for yourself, maybe hard, but happy.

I like a saying: "Where the heart goes, follow the past, born like a reverse journey, a reed to sail." ”

End